


Experimentation

by StylishChocobutt



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, But I'm not going in depth with that stuff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, and torture, mentions of experimentation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-10 00:46:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13493292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StylishChocobutt/pseuds/StylishChocobutt
Summary: When Prompto and Gladio head to Niflheim on a simple research grab during Noct's absence, they aren't prepared for what faces them in the depths of an old research facility. Niflheim took a step too far, but Prompto's determined - more than anyone else - to prove that not everything that comes out of a lab is evil. Good idea, right?It’s been almost a year since the days had gotten shorter and by Prompto’s count, that’s already one year too many. The world is in ruin, most of the population scattered or devoured by daemons. There’s not much of the world left, but he’s determined to continue fighting onwards. Fighting for when Noct returns.A fight like that involves gathering as much information as possible and that’s exactly what has him trudging through the snow just behind Gladio – who’s for once, also just as wrapped up as the blond is. He’s grumbling about the density of the snow, and Prompto can’t help but hum in agreement; the white blanket is almost up to his knees as they make their way towards a structure in the distance.





	Experimentation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Asidian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asidian/gifts).



> Welcome to a fic I've been trying to write for the last uh,... Several months. I've re-found my love for it and have finally delved into it. Welcome to some slightly canon-divergant (not too bad) fun with Prompto annnnd others! You'll see.
> 
> This is a gift to both Rah-bop and Asidian, who both have inspired me to write this, and are epic people regardless~

Niflheim’s chill matches no other; not even the winters in Insomnia came close to the cold bite that scratched against Prompto’s face. It’s a chill he’d sooner rather forget, yet here he was again, traipsing through snow and tugging his scarf tighter to his form. It’s a snow storm and a bad one at that, but what’s even worse?

The lack of sun.

It’s been almost a year since the days had gotten shorter and by Prompto’s count, that’s already one year too many. The world is in ruin, most of the population scattered or devoured by daemons. There’s not much of the world left, but he’s determined to continue fighting onwards. Fighting for when Noct returns.

A fight like that involves gathering as much information as possible and that’s exactly what has him trudging through the snow just behind Gladio – who’s for once, also just as wrapped up as the blond is. He’s grumbling about the density of the snow, and Prompto can’t help but hum in agreement; the white blanket is almost up to his knees as they make their way towards a structure in the distance.

“That the place?” Gladio grunts, glancing once back at Prompto just in time to catch the frenzied nod; not trusting his voice enough over the wind and chill. He just about catches the Shield’s next comment over the wind: “Good. Get out of this cold.”

Yeah, that was the only positive thing Prompto could even begin to consider about being back here, in Niflheim. They’d heard of experimental labs and had travelled all the way out – which was a trek and a half – just to see if they could get any more information on this everlasting night. According to Niflheim refugees who’d had experience with the Empire, and Aranea’s accounts of it, Ardyn had frequented this base on more than one occasion.

That warranted a visit.

It’s another good thirty minutes of shuffling through the snow before the two make it to the outer wall. The gate’s long since been busted inwards; Prompto doesn’t even want to consider what could bust down something that size in the first place. The gates are scattered each side of the following yard, bent awkwardly – which is surprising, because from where he’s standing, he’s pretty sure they’re made from steel.

“What do you uh, think-“ Prompto starts, immediately cut off by Gladio who grunts, “best not think about it.”

Yeah, good point. Don’t think about it Prompto. Don’t think about how big that thing was. Nope. Not thinking about it.

“Prompto.” Gladio frowns, noticing how the blonds pace had slowed.

Yeah, he’s totally thinking about it.

“Sorry!”

Tearing his gaze from the ruined structure, he follows Gladio inside of the courtyard. Once, it had probably been filled with troops patrolling; much like the base he’d infiltrated with Aranea had been. But now, he supposes the troops are either long gone or their bones are several feet under. Again, wonderful thinking Prompto, he reprimands himself.

They make their way up to the all too familiar structures that act as entrances and Gladio steps aside for Prompto to do his thing. The blonds somewhat appreciative of how the Shield focuses his gaze elsewhere – falsely trying to keep an eye out for enemies rather than leaving his gaze on Prompto as he steps forward and presses his wrist against the frozen contraption. It glows briefly green, and with some creaks and groans, the panels slide open to reveal the descent into the base.

The sudden gust of wind that tumbles around the entrance is enough to have Prompto stepping back, which Gladio – thank the Six – doesn’t comment on. Instead, the Shield steps in front and begins to make his way down into the base, greatsword already drawn and ready; slung heavily over his shoulder with little effort at all.

With the weight of his gun against his gloved palm, Prompto falls in step behind. There’s a certain eeriness to just how quiet the base is; no creak of machines or the faint sound of gunshots. Mind you, he supposes, hasn’t Hammerhead been just as quiet for months? Ever since Cindy had moved back out there and re-opened the garage, he’d begun spending more time there. But it wasn’t the same. The locals were few and far between, and more often than not he spent his time helping the hunters of Lestallum on their brief trips to Insomnia for supplies.

They descend and ride the elevator in silence. Prompto’s on edge, grip tighter on his gun than usual and occasionally he tugs at his bottom lip with his teeth. He taps his finger against his gun in a rhythmic pattern and tries his best to distance his thoughts from his actions. They’re here for a purpose, lest he let his mind wander to his last experience with a Niflheim base.

“What’re we here for?” Gladio’s words break him out of the spell, and Prompto blinks dumbly before they settle in his mind.

He thinks back to descriptions from refugees. “Uh, anything out of the ordinary. Reports would be good, oh and any audio recorders too!” He ignores Gladio’s raised eyebrow at that; because honestly, who even used those?

No one asides Verstael.

“Got it. You good?” That was out of the ordinary; leaving Prompto questioning whether Gladio meant mentally – was it showing? – or simply physically in regards to the combat they’d undoubtedly endure in the next hour or so.

He didn’t know, but he nodded the affirmative regardless.

The elevator grate slides open and they make their way through the corridors of the base. The first main room they find has plenty of documents; but most are coated in all-too familiar black daemonic residue; the words no longer recognizable beneath the smudges. The next two rooms are the same and Prompto can already feel irritation climbing in his veins. Had they seriously come all this way for nothing?

Third room; same issue. They tread carefully down the hall to the fourth and Prompto tries his best not to notice the rags of clothes across the floor. Chances are that meant this place wasn’t as uninhabited as he’d first hoped.

Fourth room. It’s large, but this one has a surprising amount of organisation to it. Stepping in, Prompto immediately makes a bee-line past the desk to the draws beyond and tugs them open, fingering his way through several files. Luckily, they’re all labled.

Mech reports.

MT files.

Troop routes.

Decommission notes. Prompto swallows against that one, but carries on. It’s nothing they don’t already know.

Experiments.

That’s new. It doesn’t seem to detail the usual MT creation process which he’s unfortunately far too familiar with by now. Besides, there’s already a section he’s skipped past for that. He tugs the files free, turning to the desk before pushing dusty papers aside and dropping the stack down on the wood.

“Those what we need?” Gladio asks from the doorway, leaning against the frame with his gaze to the darkened corridor beyond.

“Uh, maybe?” Not the best answer, but Prompto’s already opening the first file on top.

 

_Experiment-121681_

  * _Male, 5”9_
  * _17_
  * _Parasite injected as instructed. No change._
  * _Parasite spreading as expected. No change._
  * _Experiment exhibiting unusual behaviour: Mood swings, rage, insanity._
  * _Parasite drawing from the subject._
  * _Parasite draining subject._
  * _Subject deceased after two months._



 

Parasite? Gross. Like the bug type thing? Prompto can’t help but shudder at that thought. Cloning was one thing, but this? Hell no. Niflheim really did mess with ethics on an incredible scale; something that made his stomach turn just thinking about it.

Experiment-121681

…Same information.

The following three are also the same, though the time period of decease seems to decrease. The researcher seems less and less impressed with the results, the writing becoming harder and harder to read as if the author is tired of writing the same sentences.

He flicks the final file open, not expecting anything new.

And…

Almost shuts it again. Yeah, this one’s worse. Not only is the file thicker, but there’s a lot more in the first page. Photographs.

They’re old, and grainy – as if taken a good twenty years or so prior – but he can just about make out that the first one is of a female’s back. But the veins beneath are white; which on a greyscale photograph, is odd. Surely, they’d be darker with the flow of blood? Not that veins are usually apparent at all. It’s as if they’d been glowing.

The second photo is of a child and with sickening realisation Prompto notes that the subject in both of these then was her. Experimentation on children.

_Again._

 

_Experiment-926211491_

  * _Female, 4”6_
  * _7_
  * _Parasite injected as instructed. No change._
  * _Parasite spreading as expected. No change._
  * _Experiment’s temperament is normal. No change._
  * _Parasite is dormant until called on. New development. Experiment is able to draw on parasite and use it skilfully._
  * _Parasite exhibits starscourge on subject. An unwanted development._
  * _Parasite absorbs starscourge. Process is painful, but heals experiment._



  * _8_



A new age, perhaps?

  * _Training is going as planned._
  * _Parasite is as effective as last year._
  * _Subject is advancing in combat._
  * _Subject is unable to compete against goblins._



 

An eight year old against goblins? No surprise there. Disgusting that Niflheim would even consider something like that.

Prompto continues to flick through the reports; each one detailing another year of this child’s life. More and more photographs are apparent each stage, and with a lurch of his stomach he abruptly turns some of the more gruesome ones over and shoves them aside. Grievious injuries, surgeries, and more. These seem to start around the subject’s eighteenth year of age. The girl’s age. He reminds himself.

The last file is listed at twenty years of age.

Twenty years of suffering, apparently.

That’s the last one and judging by the date that’s only a few months before the sun’s light diminished from the world. Shoving the report into the pack they’d brought with them, along with some of the others, Prompto carries on searching the rest of the files – they’re more basic, and definitely less stomach wrenching.

“Better hurry up.” Gladio’s gruff voice cuts in from the doorway; to the point where Prompto nearly jumps in surprise. He’d been so absorbed in those files that he’d nearly forgotten the big guys’ presence.

He’s about to question why when he hears it.

Skittering.

Not the small sort of skittering you’d expect from mice, or the like. But large, scraping across metal somewhere else in the facility. The sound of sharp limbs cutting into steel, scratching into the floor as something heavy moves upon them.

Arachne.

Bundling the remaining files into the pack, he slings it over his shoulder with ease; leaving the other hand free to clutch against his gun, finger resting on the trigger as he makes his way back across the room to Gladio. Best get a move on.

“We’re uh, scouting this _whole_ place, right?”

That earns him a bark of a laugh, and a rather heavy pat on the back from the Shield. “You bet. Iggy’d skin us alive if we didn’t.”

“Right- Even the uh,-“

“Yup. Even the creepy lower level. Pull it together, kid.” Gladio nods, sparing one glance at the blond before pushing ahead once more.

Suuure, let’s just go down to the creepy level that’s bound to have those Arachne. If this was an RPG, he’d totally be looking for a save point right now. As they wander through the corridor his gaze lands on an old vending machine; which tugs a smile on his lips. Yeah, something like that’d be cliché enough for a save point.

They move again in relative silence. Most of the base has been cleared out; though there are scattered papers and clothing across the floor in a haphazard fashion, suggesting that not all the denizens of the hall had actually managed to leave the building when it had been overrun.

The lower floor is just down a metal staircase, on which each footstep is so horrendously audible despite their attempts to keep it quiet. Gladio’s groan of annoyance on the first step is more than enough to set the blond even further on edge: because if they can hear these steps, so can whatever is down there.

As they reach the bottom and turn their flashlights towards the new corridor – or perhaps it’s just a long room – Prompto feels his stomach twist sickeningly once more.

Tubes. A row of each along the walls, as far as his light illuminates. The glass is murky and green, and most have been smashed – with dried dark ooze having seeped over the exterior. If he squints hard enough, he’s almost near certain he can make out a limb hanging awkwardly from one of them. The thought alone – and hopefully it’s just his imagination – is enough to have him turning away and skipping forward a few steps to catch up with his stoic companion.

“These are-… Were experiments.” He manages, thinking back to those reports. “Some kind of parasite thing, uh, was being used on them. I uh, didn’t really understand it.” He’d have to show the scientific notes to Ignis later; the ones he could barely read.

Gladio hums low in thought, “Looks like most of ‘em are either gone or…” He doesn’t need to finish that sentence. “Whatever. Let’s keep moving. Might be something down here.”

He probably meant research. All Prompto could think of was those Arachne they’d heard.

One of the tubes near him is still whole to a certain degree, though the glass is completely dusted with black reside and Prompto instinctively steps over to see if he can get a better look. Raising his hand to the glass, he rubs the gloved palm across it in an attempt clear some of the black dirt but only succeeds in further smudging it over the exterior. Still, he can make out something inside; by the shape though, he’s not sure he wants to examine further.

A body, probably. Nothing could have survived down here. The faint flickering of lights suggests that some of the tubes were running on an external power generator; one that hadn’t been destroyed or such by daemonic activity. This one’s flashing occasionally too; but there’s no sign of movement within.

And he doesn’t really fancy staring at a corpse face-to-face, so he steps away.

“Looks like uh,-“

He turns to state the obvious lack of evidence to Gladio, before noting the rather oversized form beginning to spark electricity behind the Shield – who had just turned at the worst time to listen to the blond.

He’s dropped the bag of reports on the floor before he’s even realised it, gun clutched in his palm as he pulls the trigger.


End file.
